After eliminating the patrol team, the group faced no further obstacles on their path to Menzoberranzan.
As they drew closer, the adventuring party finally laid eyes upon the legendary city—bathed in a soft magical glow, its unique beauty gradually revealing itself before them.
It was an impossibly grand elven city. Towering, fortified walls formed its defensive barriers, lined with war machines perpetually ready for battle.
The city's primary structures consisted of towering stone pillars and the stalactites hanging from the cavernous ceiling above. Each pillar had been meticulously carved by drow artisans—craftsmanship rivaling even that of dwarven masters. With their long lifespans, they dedicated themselves to crafting intricate designs: delicate latticework, bas-reliefs, and motifs honoring the Spider Queen.
To Anthony's eyes, the city was draped in ever-shifting kaleidoscopic light—a spectacle born from the mingling of geothermal vapors and raw magical energy. A visual symphony only infrared vision could fully appreciate.
Those with mere darkvision couldn't perceive such vivid colors. To Little Witch and the others, the city appeared as if dusted with starlight, its most striking feature being a single colossal stone pillar that seemed to pierce the heavens, crowned with a slowly climbing flame of orange-red.
This was the home of the drow. Though exiled underground millennia ago, forever severed from the sun, they had never abandoned elven aesthetics or their artisan's pride. Their stubborn devotion lent the sunless Underdark an exotic charm unlike any other.
It was clear—despite the changes forced upon them, the drow had never forsaken their pursuit of beauty and precision. They poured their hearts (and no small amount of magic) into forging their city into a masterpiece.
A deeply twisted, deformed race, Anthony mused.
But then again, that was to be expected. Long-lived races always had a few screws loose.
An extended lifespan wasn't always a blessing. Sentient beings thrived on emotion, yet eternity eroded passion, leaving only hollow tedium in its wake.
The elves were a prime example. Many young elves, restless and yearning for more, ventured out into the world as adventurers. Yet just as many eventually returned home, disillusioned. When nothing could stir their hearts any longer, they often sought out a sturdy, crooked tree—and ended their increasingly gray existence beneath its boughs.
Even dragons coped with their longevity through prolonged slumber. Younger wyrms might chase mates and fleeting thrills, but greed and hoarding instincts inevitably became their final obsessions.
Other long-lived races might have different desires, but only the most deformed obsessions can make them feel the thrill of being alive.
Those long-lived races who cling to external means to cheat death long after their natural lifespan—well, they're all a little twisted.
Of course, such thoughts were still premature for Anthony, barely out of his juvenile years. When he spotted the drow priestesses at the gates of Menzoberranzan, a satisfied smirk curled his lips.
Black hot girls—now that was the stuff.
The moment Anthony saw the drow, they noticed his adventuring party too. Yet the dark elves seemed lethargic, none moving until Anthony reached the city gates. Only then did the two priestesses wielding three-headed snake whips saunter forward.
This team was… unusual. Those pitiful males probably couldn't handle anything so complex.
"Surface-dwellers. Amusing." The lead priestess eyed the party, then glided toward Anthony with predatory grace. "Introduce yourselves. Why come to Menzoberranzan?"
"As you see, honored priestess, I am an archmage—here to sell… interesting slaves." Anthony dipped his head, avoiding her gaze, focusing instead on the space between her nose and lips.
These drow priestesses were fanatics to the core, their pride so fierce they'd flay any man who dared meet their eyes.
Anthony's tactic worked—sort of. The drow female didn't even lift her eyelids, lazily dismissing him. "Your timing is poor. Entry hours have passed. Turn back, or try another drow city."
With that, she spun away, her three-headed whip hissing at Anthony like a live thing.
Frowning at the still-open gates, Anthony studied the guards. The drow warriors lounged in clusters, chatting idly. But the younger, impish drow female who'd accompanied the first shot him a covert hand signal.
Her fingers danced—thumb rubbing between index and middle finger twice.
Ah. A simple, universal message.
Money.
Too bad for her, Anthony had one hard rule: he never paid bribes.
Not a single copper coin. The thought of parting with coin made his heart ache as if gouged. And one copper wouldn't satisfy these viper beauties anyway—black of skin, blacker of heart.
He needed to think of another way.
Seeing the other party unmoved, the young Drow female grew displeased. She flipped Anthony off, then swayed her hips back toward the city gates.
These Drow weren't black hot girls—they were dark-skinned bitches.
Anthony's thoughts shifted quickly.
But then, he suddenly noticed something familiar about the insignias on their weapons.
He pulled the two insignias from his waist bag and examined them closely. Hmm. Identical.
"Honorable and radiant priestesses, my lords, might you recognize this family insignia? It bears the name 'House.'" Anthony waved the small trinket in his hand.
The insignias held some value, but they'd be troublesome to sell. Bringing them to the surface would draw the elves' scrutiny, and their enchantments would fade over time. Better to trade them for a favor.
Hearing Anthony's voice, the lead priestess turned back in surprise.
She was the Second Daughter of House Maever. Her two younger brothers had vanished the week before, and this week's guard duty—her family's turn—had trapped her in the city, unable to search for them.
Though she held little affection for those weak, useless males of her house, the family had invested thirty years raising them. To lose both before reaping any returns, especially one she'd personally overseen, was infuriating.
Even her mother had grown irritable lately.
Drow familial bonds were thin, true, but even a dog raised for ten years would be missed if it vanished—let alone two males the house had fed for three decades.
Of course, there were differences.
Dogs ate far less than those males, were far more loyal, and infinitely more useful.
At least this week's guard duty would end soon. Then she could scour the outskirts. Her mother had already given the order:
Find them alive or bring back their corpses. If they refuse to return, turn them into corpses and drag them home.
The family would never tolerate desertion among its members—let alone allow them to live freely elsewhere.
Just as she pondered where to find the two missing individuals, she unexpectedly encountered rare surface-dwellers. She had intended to shoo these clueless guys away, but they surprisingly provided relevant information.
Her heart lurched at the sight of the two insignias in his hand.
"Arielle, fetch those insignias."
Arielle sighed but obeyed, approaching the mage again. Without a word, she snatched the insignias from his grasp and activated their magical energy using the family's method.
Insignias could be faked, but the flow of magical energy could not.
As for courtesy? That was reserved for other high-tier priests. For males like these, not lashing them twice with her whip was already mercy enough.
As a magic power aura flared around Arielle, she sighed inwardly.
It seemed her two unlucky brothers had likely met their end—though her words were far from sympathetic: "Second Sister, it's those fools' family insignias."
The Second Daughter frowned and stepped back toward the surface-dweller's teammates, her tone sharp. "Where did you find these insignias?"
"On my way here, in a bone pile inside a Hook Horror lair, about 80 li southeast," Anthony replied, feeling fortunate. "If you two Priestess wish, I can later guide you there to retrieve their skeletons. But after such a long journey, I'm exhausted. Might I enter the city to rest first?"
Leading a group of slaves this far proved this archmage was no pushover. Arielle gave an absent nod—but her Second Sister clearly disagreed.
She made the decision right away: "Male, you want to enter the city? You can, but you must bring back their skeletons now. The warriors of House Maever cannot be left dead in the wilderness. Once you bring back their skeletons, the gates of Menzoberranzan will be open to you."
With that, she turned and strode away.
Anthony watched the proud beauty's retreating figure, a shadow flickering in his eyes.